Monthly Archives: February 2012

We’re going to have our first contest here at The Were-Traveler with the Blood Vengeance: Vampyre issue.

First prize: $25 US dollars worth of eBooks from Amazon. If you live in the US, and you want it, I’ll get you a $25 Starbucks card, if you’d prefer a cuppa at your local cafe while you write.

Second prize: Up to $15 in eBooks on Amazon. Or Starbucks (exchange for US residents).

Third prize: E-book of your choice from Amazon. $10 max.

Contest is open to anyone. Free coffee and books. Who doesn’t love this?

How the contest will work: You send in your best Vampire Blood Revenge stories. I’d like to see something different with these. Click here for the guidelines. Play around with the theme and have some fun. I’d totally love to see some alternate history where there are historical figures who were vamps, like, oh say…Lizzie Borden. That would really turn my crank! Different is good. There’s not too much that hasn’t been done. Strong characters are also a big, big plus. And don’t forget, the plot has to be revenge motivated: hunter becomes the hunted, vamp vs. vamp, etc. I wasn’t kidding about Lizzie, either. I have the perfect image to use for it!

So, first, your story has to get by me. After that, the issue gets released and readers will have a chance to vote (via Poll Daddy) for their favorite stories.

And by the way, due to fairness, I won’t be writing any stories for this one.

That’s the theme of this special issue for Valentine’s Day. The stories in this issue are about love. The kind that lasts forever. ‘Til DEATH do us part, and maybe not even then!

So here are some stories the cynic and the sick creep in us will love.

I have a special place in my twisted heart for all these tales, but my favorite was Helen Howell’s “S.W.A.L.K.” I had trouble sleeping after reading it.

I hope you enjoy these drabbles and micro-fiction stories, and be sure to read stay tuned for the upcoming post about the contest I’m having for the Blood Vengeance: Vampyre issue. And no, I won’t be writing a story for that issue.

Maya grasped hold of the white envelope. No stamp. She turned it over and saw the initials S.W.A.L.K. scribbled across the flap and what looked like a smudge of blood. They must have cut themselves. She carried it into the kitchen, grabbed a knife and slit it open.

‘Be My Valentine’ the words shouted from the front of the card. She opened it. A lock of hair lay inside—her hair; same colour, same red flecks shining amongst the gold strands. She moved it and gasped. The message written in blood said;

Her eyes fluttered open to rest upon the lone figure. She stretched, long limbs partially entwined in silken sheets. Sweat from the previous night’s exertions still glistened on her skin.

“Come back to bed, love,” she said, but the shadow remained fixed before the dawn-soaked window.

She extended her legs once more, rising from the bed with fluid grace to stand by his side. Leaning against him, their sweat mingled as their bodies joined once again. Her arms curled around his shoulders.

“It was a mistake,” he whispered.

His chest rose and fell heavily as she stroked his flesh and nuzzled his neck. “How can you say that?” she asked, planting kisses between each word. “It can’t be wrong for us to be together like this.” Her tongue licked salt from his neck, found his jaw, his chin.

“It’s wrong,” he said.

“It’s not wrong for wolves to prey on rabbits; is it?” She took her lover’s face in her hands. “Now that we’re the same, we’ll hunt together. We were meant to share… everything. ” Her hands grabbed his hair, pulling his face down to hers. She sucked his lips, nipping the flesh. His passion rose, breaking free to match her own.

His fingers traced the four long strips torn into her side. Already the wounds were beginning to heal. Despite himself, he longed for the next full moon – with her by his side.

As I prepare myself, I recall every fleeting glimpse of you: through the window that first night; on the streets as we hurried to your destination; in your bedroom, while you lay sleeping.

We took it slow. I’m simply old fashioned that way.

But I’m ready now. You’re ready. I’ve imagined this night since the moment I laid eyes on you and now, excited, I can barely dress myself. My sleeping beauty, tonight I bring you into my world with a single bright red slash of a kiss.

The large wall clock used to be synchronized with the beating of my heart. It doesn’t sound like that anymore. First, it became more like ‘ti-tick to-tock….ti-tick to-tock….’ I used to be able to feel the measure of my wristwatch keeping the same perfect rhythm…could feel it tapping seconds out against my pulse. I stopped wearing it.

When my brother Dave and I were boys, time was not of the essence. Time was not passing us by. We were sure we were going to live forever. Dying was for old people, and we were YOUNG!

He went to California when he was twenty-three and got himself engaged to a hot California chick, a doctor. Beauty and brains.

‘tiiiick…’

I hadn’t heard anything from him in awhile. Then…

His fiance, Anja, called me with the news. She sounded pretty good, I thought, for having just lost the love of her life…then I remembered she was a doctor and probably saw a lot of death.

I got on a plane and flew out there to help tie up Dave’s affairs.

…toccck.

Anja took me to the storage bay where most of Dave’s things were. He’d had a lot of his old stuff put in storage when they moved in together. We found a bottle of wine, a corkscrew, and some old plastic cups. We decided to toast Dave. We plopped down on a beat-up sofa, coughing from the dust rising from the cushions.

“Why didn’t he throw this old thing out?”

Anja smiled. She lifted her cup, then stopped. “You know how he was. Such a pack-rat!”

I grinned. It sounded more like me than Dave.

“You look a lot like him.”

I sputtered, nearly choking on the wine. “I do?”

“Yes.” She stood and walked over to an ugly lamp. I never knew Dave had such terrible taste. She traced her finger down the side. Then, she started talking about how they met. She was a cardiologist, you see.

“Please don’t be angry. He didn’t want anyone to know.”

I yawned, thinking the flight from Buffalo was catching up with me. “I’m not angry. He knew I’d take it hard.”

We talked some more and at some point…I think I kissed her. I don’t know how it happened but it must have been the wine. My head got very fuzzy. I think I passed out on the sofa.

Then I had this crazy dream. I was strapped to a operating table. Anja was standing over me.

She was holding my dripping, bloody heart in her hand. She pulled her surgical mask down.

“You’re worried about this?” She turned my heart in her hands looking at it. It was still beating.

She smiled. “You won’t be needing it anymore. And I really wanted the set!” She pointed behind her. There were shelves with glass jars. Jars containing living, beating hearts. The one she pointed to had a label with Dave’s name on it.

She dropped my heart into another jar then turned to a table behind her. “You’ll do much better with this!” She spun back around and in her hands was an small alarm clock.

My eyes must have gotten wide because she laughed. “But first I have to set it! Now you go back to sleep!”

She plunged a syringe into my arm and I screamed.

It felt like I woke up immediately, but I know it must have been much later. I was in my hotel room instead of the storage bay with Dave’s stuff, and there was no sign of Anja. I ripped open the front of my shirt, but there was just my bare chest, smooth as a baby’s ass, like always.

I tried calling Anja, but kept getting her voice mail. I wasn’t sure I wanted to talk to her anyway. That dream really freaked me out. So, I settled things with Dave’s lawyers and went home.

A few days later, I noticed my heartbeat seemed timed to my watch and clock on the wall. Three months later it started to skip a beat. Now…it’s slowing down.

I hear it when I’m lying in bed at night…no longer able to keep rhythm with the clock on the dresser. ‘tiiiicccck……….toccccckkk’